The Powers that Are
by myheadsgonenumb
Summary: S5 Angel. Up on the higher planes of existence Cordelia, Doyle, Anya and Tara are still fighting the good fight. Cordy has regained higher powerdom and her friends work for her - a heavenly scooby gang. They walk between heaven and hell dimensions to find artefacts that will help the warriors for good, back on earth, help defend the world against darkness. T.V show compliant.
1. Chapter 1

**The Powers That Are**

A sudden blast of fire blew down the cloisters, the flames licking at the marble pillars that supported the structure, scorching the walls and leaving them blackened. The force of the heat was enough to ruffle the hair of the three people crouched, hidden, behind the low wall.

'Well that answers that question' Doyle whispered to his companions 'the temple is definitely guarded.'

'Great plan Irish man!' Anya hissed back at him 'what do we do, now?'

Slowly and carefully, Doyle turned himself round so he was facing the direction the fire had come from, he put his fingertips on top of the wall, and pulled himself upwards, so only his forehead and eyes were visible above it, peering into the temple. 'Okay okay, he's big and he's ugly' he said to the two women, 'but I think he's stupid.'

'Are you sure that's not you you're describing?' Anya wanted to know. Leaning against the wall, the other side of Doyle, Tara wrinkled her nose up in amusement and smiled warmly at her friend, 'I don't think it can be, sweetie', she said. 'Francis isn't very big.'

'Hey! I'm not deaf y'know!' He sat back down, in between the two scoobies and leant his head against the bricks behind him. 'We need a plan to steal that gem stone without godzilla in there realisin'. Tara? Any ideas?'

The witch nodded her head, 'I can cast a spell so that he won't notice that it's gone.'

'I think it's a 'she'.' Anya interrupted. 'Female galgamesh demons are always bigger, and they can breathe fire up to a range of twenty feet.'

'Does it matter?' Doyle wanted to know. 'Tara, you were sayin'?'

Anya slumped down, sulkily, muttering to herself that yes it did matter - because how far the demon could breathe it's deadly flames was entirely dependent on its sex and that was the sort of information that might come in handy when you were trying to outrun it. Tara smiled at her again, but then continued talking to Doyle. 'The only problem is, I can't make her not notice us trying to steal it, as well. I can't do a cloaking spell on both us _and_ the gem, not at the same time - it's either/or.'

'Okay' he nodded slowly, thinking. The ground and the wall behind them shook slightly as the galgamesh demon roared once more, hunks of stone began to fall from the roof of the cloisters and rain down on where the three of them were hidden. 'I'm going to go out there and distract it - whilst I'm running from a fiery death - which will be my second, by the way - Tara, you cast the cloaking spell and Anya? You teleport into the temple and grab the gem whilst it's not looking. We meet back here if we're not obliterated, OK?' The two women nodded, and Doyle swallowed nervously - hating having to play the hero once again. Wasn't it enough that he'd given up his real life back on earth to be a hero? He had to be one in the afterlife too? 'On the count of three - 1...2...3'

He morphed into his demon spikes and used his extra power to spring over the wall, from a crouched start. He landed on his feet; surprising the massive lizard like beast that guarded the temple and the gem of Andulae, and began to run, before the galgamesh had time to breathe it's fiery death at him. The thundering footsteps and the cracking earth behind him told him he was being chased, the tail of the demon swung from side to side, bashing the walls and knocking down the pillars. The whole temple was going to collapse under the destruction caused by it's own guardian. It roared once more, and Doyle put on another burst of speed, rounding a corner just as the flames came shooting towards him.

Tara had stayed by the wall, but she stood up and tracked the galgamesh where it ran. She whispered her incantation to the goddess 'Blind Cadria, desolate queen, work my will upon the beast. Your curse upon it. My obeisance to you.' As Doyle ran back towards her, the demon hot on his heels, she blew the powder she held in her hand out towards the running galgamesh. A sudden beam of light, golden and liquid, seemed to emanate from her hand and then hit the lizard demon squarely in its eyes, before melting away. The light caused the galgamesh to become confused, just for a moment, it forgot what it was doing - and Doyle used that moment to grab Tara and pull her over the low wall. They now hid on the opposite side, inside the crumbling cloisters, not far from the door to the temple.

Meanwhile, whilst the half brachen demon had been creating his distraction, the former vengeance demon had used her teleportation powers, regifted to her after her own heroic death, to vanish into nothingness and rematerialise inside the temple. She approached the gem of Andulae, where it sat on its plinth, with extreme caution. It was a pale pink, and about the size of her fist. It looked like any semi precious rock and she didn't see why it was worth all this trouble - or why it was worth the risk of the three of them getting obliterated. Still, Cordelia had sent them on this mission and they had to do whatever Cordelia told them - she was a higher power, a demigoddess. They were just three dead schmucks that had made the poor life choice of playing heroes.

'Please don't be cursed, please don't be cursed' she whispered over and over as she reached out to take the gem. She shut her eyes, screwed them up tight, and turned her face away as her hand made contact with it - tensing up waiting for an explosion or something. But nothing happened when she touched it with one outstretched finger, and relieved, she opened her eyes and picked up the gem. The ground rumbled beneath her, then and -rather than stick around to find out what was happening, she teleported back to her friends.

She found them hidden inside the cloister, as the galgamesh rampaged around in the atrium that the pillared walkway enclosed. 'I told you she was stupid.' Doyle said to them. 'She doesn't know we've got the gem?' Anya was still clutching the pink stone tightly to her chest, she looked expectantly at Tara wanting to hear the answer to Doyle's question. Tara shook her head 'I've blinded her to it.' she told them 'she won't be able to see the empty plinth.'

'So she's just gonna go on guardin' empty space?'

'That pretty much sums it up, yeah' Tara smiled.

'Right, we need to get this back to Cordy.' Doyle said, and keeping low, the three of them crept out of the sacred temple complex of Andulae and, once at a safe distance, Tara used her magicks to take them back to their own heavenly dimension.

* * *

Cordelia was alone in her heavenly edifice - waiting for her three servants to return. As she always did, when she had sent them on a mission and she was left alone, she was watching the world below - specifically Angel. There was a mystical pool held in a rune engraved bowl and stood on a plinth, right in the middle of her throne room- and she used that as a window into the lower planes. It was how she was able to identify which artefacts the soldiers that still fought the good fight on earth would need - and know where to send her friends to find it. But it also allowed her to glimpse her own dear boy - her champion, and follow him as he struggled to find his path.

She didn't really understand what she was seeing at the moment though, he appeared to have shrunk in size and be made of felt. He seemed very angry about it - but he was kind of adorable. She giggled to herself as she watched him sulk in his office, having beaten up Spike for laughing at him. Tears shone out in her eyes, but they didn't fall, watching him was always bittersweet.

'I don't see why _we_ are always the ones that get chased by fire breathing monsters and risk our immortal souls getting obliterated - we were heroes in real life, it's illogical that we be forced to carry on in the afterlife.' That was Anya's voice - complaining, as usual. Cordelia blanked the pool and wiped her eyes, ready for the return of her friends.

'This is only our second mission!' Doyle pointed out, their voices were getting louder, they were close now. 'Cordelia wanted people she could trust.'

'Well Buffy didn't have to do this when she was dead - she just hung out on a fluffy cloud wearing birkenstocks and carrying a harp.'

'Are you sure about that?'

The door into the throne room opened and in walked the three of them, Anya still carrying the gem of Andulae. 'Here you go princess,' Doyle greeted the higher power, 'we got it, just like you asked.'

Cordelia held out her hand and took it from Anya: 'thanks.'

'So what are you gonna do with it?' The small half demon sat down in her throne, his legs dangled over one of the ornate arms, she gave him a pointed look - that throne was for higher powers only, but he just smiled at her and didn't move.

'Did you have trouble getting it?' she asked.

'Only in the 'we nearly died' sense of trouble.' Anya said.

'You're already dead' Cordelia replied distractedly as she examined the gem - seeking out the flaws, feeling the roughness of its surface with her fingers.

'Wh - what are you going to use the gem for?' Tara asked, her stammer always became more pronounced around Cordelia - possibly because she was a higher power, possibly because she was exactly the sort of queen bee that the witch had spent the whole of high school being terrified of.

'It's for Willow' Cordy said, smiling at Tara, softly. She didn't want the gentle wiccan to be afraid around her, and was always a little bit pleased whenever Anya or Doyle did something completely inappropriate or irreverent to prove to Tara that she didn't have to treat Cordelia with reverence. She glanced over at where Doyle was still lolling around on her golden throne. I mean, a little reverence would be nice - she was still Queen C, after all.

Tara's face lit up as she realised she had just done something to aid the woman she loved in the fight against evil. 'W-Willow?'

'Yep' She stopped examining the gem and threw it at Doyle 'think fast'. He caught it, but only just, and overbalanced; falling off the throne and tumbling onto the floor. 'Ow'.

'Serves you right' Cordelia told him, 'you shouldn't sit on my throne.'

'Why do you even have a throne?' Doyle wanted to know 'the other higher powers don't have them.'

'Duh! I _wanted_ one.' The two of them laughed together. She had missed Doyle all those years he had been dead and she had borne his visions. She had jumped at the chance to have him work for her now, and so far the little half demon hadn't disappointed her. He was just as loyal as ever. And the way he looked at her didn't suck either. 'I need you to take this to Brazil.'

'Brazil?'

'Where Willow can find it - it's going to help her locate more slayers.'

'Cool, Rio here we come!'

The three heroes left the throne room, once more, this time headed back to the lower planes; and Cordelia turned back to the mystical pool to watch over her mortal friends. What she saw made her smile. Fred was kissing Wesley. _Finally._

* * *

 **A/N This is just a little fic I'm writing alongside my massive rewrite of the whole of Angel - something easy to switch to when the going gets tough. It will be canon compliant through to the end of Not Fade Away, but beyond that it won't really follow the comics (because I don't read them). As this is just my bit on the side, i'll be updating it as and when i've got something to add. There is lots more to come, but I don't know when that will be.**


	2. Chapter 2: Two Weeks Earlier: Part One

_**Two Weeks Earlier;**_

Tears blurred her eyes 'Don't make this hard, Angel, I'm just on a different road ...and this is my off ramp. The Powers That Be owed me one, and I didn't waste it. I got my guy back on track.' The vampire started to protest, and she touched his face, cupping his cheek with her hand. 'We take what we can get champ, and we do our best with it.' Tears blurred her vision, as she spoke, her lower lip trembled but she forced herself to smile as she stepped away from him. Her voice took on a lighthearted tone, but it was a front, her heart was breaking. 'I'll be seeing you.' She turned to walk from the office, before stopping and changing her mind. 'Oh what the hell ...one for the road.' She ran back to him and pulled him towards herself, kissing him hungrily, trying to make up for all their missed chances and wasted opportunities in this one, final embrace. But it was ended too soon, the phone began to ring and Cordelia pulled away. 'That - you have to get.' She left the circle of his arms one last time, and headed for the door. As Angel picked up the phone she gave him a final, bittersweet smile, 'oh - and, you're welcome!'

* * *

She faded from the office, and before Angel had even realised she had left him, she found herself on the higher planes. There was no one there to meet her, there were no pearly gates or scales of judgement, no past loved ones or even St. Peter. It was just her - alone. There was no need for anybody to be there, no need for a heavenly chorus or a welcome committee, or even a familiar face to guide her through her new existence. Her position in this dimension came with knowledge; great shining clarity of where she was, what she was and what she needed to do.

She was a higher power once more, but for real this time - a bona fide member of the PTB. She existed to oversee that balance was maintained in the struggle between good and evil, and to prevent evil from getting the upper hand. She glanced around her surroundings, which were formless for the time being, and used her will to give them form. What was created looked an awful lot like her throne room back in Pylea. She smiled to herself: this would do for now.

In the middle of the room, however, was something new - something that had not been in her grand royal hall when she had been the ruler of a demon dimension. It was a mystical pool that seemed to swirl all by itself, mist rolled across the top of it. It was encased in a rune engraved bowl and stood on a plinth, exactly the right height for her to look into the water and see the images it displayed. This was to be her window into the lower planes, the way that she would follow the eternal struggle and keep the universe in balance.

But for now, she used the pool to show her the image of Angel. He sat on the edge of his desk, having just hung up the phone, gazing at the spot where Cordelia had stood just moments before -grieving. She felt her heart shatter inside her chest, and an almost physical sensation of being pulled back towards her boy, a desperate yearning to stay with him, and live her life with him, being there to put him on the right path - not just watching from a distance. But this was impossible now. Her life on earth was over. She could only help Angel from up here, finding ways to aid him in his coming battles, even though she could not physically be at his side.

As a higher power, however, there were rules about what she could and could not do. It was unseemly for her to get so involved in the interests of mortals, the paths of the lower beings. She was now supposed to be all about the bigger picture, balancing the scales. She could only enter the fray herself in dire emergency. In order to really be of use to her Angel, she would require the help of other lower beings.

In her short 23 years on earth, Cordelia had really only known of three people who had died. Sure, Sunnydale had had an unusually high death count, and her boyfriend Kevin and her best friend Harmony had been amongst them. But she hadn't known Kevin that well, and Harmony was a vampire now. Beyond that, the deaths had always happened to people she only sort of knew. Even all her grandparents were still alive. So she felt that her choices for who to help her were limited.

The first death that had affected her had been Miss Calendar, way back in junior year. She knew about the forces of evil and had a lot of knowledge. But she had been murdered by Angelus - so maybe not the best person to ask to help Angel stay on the right path. Besides, she was a teacher, Cordy didn't want to spend eternity hanging out with her computer science teacher …

One of the other deaths that had affected Cordelia was much more recent, and had happened after she had left Sunnydale. Buffy had lost her mom, to a stupid, mortal brain aneurysm a couple of years ago. Joyce had always been a kind and supportive figure in their lives, but she hadn't been a scooby. She had no specialist knowledge or powers, and Cordy didn't exactly want to spend her afterlife hanging out with a parental figure either…

That left one person ...or half of a person anyway. A man she had only known for a few months, five years ago … but who had, in his own way, changed her life more than anyone else she had ever met. The man who had given her her visions, and thus set her on her path to higher powerdom in the first place. The man who had given his life to make sure that Angel kept on fighting.

Doyle.

He had knowledge, he had power, and he cared about Angel. Besides, she wouldn't mind hanging out for all eternity with _him_ ...

* * *

She clicked her fingers, there was a sudden flash of light, and then there he was; standing in front of her, looking exactly the way he had the day he died. He was even dressed the same. She knew that because she had watched the tape they had filmed together, on the day he died, only a few hours before, in Angel's penthouse suite. 'Oh my gosh… Doyle.' her face lit up as she saw him, the same way it had when she had seen him on the monitor in the construct of a mall where Skip had told her the visions were killing her. But this was better, because this time, he was really here.

The small half demon looked around at the golden throne room, a bemused expression playing on his face as he wondered where he was and how he had got there. Cordelia remembered that expression. She remembered his eyes, and how gentle they were, and that weird bump in the bridge of his nose, and that beaten up, brown, leather jacket, and how short he was, and the way it didn't matter what he wore - his ludicrous amounts of chest hair would always be on show. Doyle's dying had left a thorn in her heart (and a pain in her head, courtesy of the visions) and; even as she grieved for the loss of Angel, as she saw her old friend in front of her, she felt some of the terrible pain in her chest begin to melt away.

By the time Doyle's confused eyes settled on Cordelia, she was wearing her biggest, brightest smile - beaming in excited anticipation as she waited for him to recognise her. Just as Cordelia's had, Doyle's own face lit up when he saw her. 'Cordelia!'

She flung her arms around him, much like she had that time his guy had found her the perfect apartment. And just like that time, he just stood there as she hugged him, looking slightly baffled. 'I missed you', she told him, as she let go.

'Uhuh' he glanced around the grand, royal hall again. 'Is there something you need to tell me, Cordelia? Like how come you appear to be a queen these days?'

'Well, obviously ...I'm dead now.'

'And the throne? I didn't get a throne.'

'I'm a higher power.' She said simply, 'I don't just work for the PTB anymore, I am one - so I get a throne. It's just like the one I had when I was the Princess of Pylea.'

Doyle scratched his head. His soft, black hair stood on end where he had touched it - giving him the look of a disreputable scarecrow. 'OK. Someone's been drinkin', and I'm sad to say it isn't me. You're a higher power? You're one of the people responsible for those mind numbing, bone crunching, head wrenching visions that I used to get from time to time?'

'Well obviously I wasn't a higher power back then.' She replied, rolling her eyes at him: 'I was just an ordinary girl. But after you died and you gave me your visions …'

'Hold up, back up there - what?' Doyle's face had fallen, in fact his happy expression had disappeared completely on hearing her words, and had been replaced by a look of abject horror. Cordelia felt her own smile slide off her face, as she saw his sickened expression, and realised he had never known what he had done. 'When you kissed me, before you died … you passed along the visions to me. I had them for three years before I became a higher power.'

'They killed you?' He looked devastated.

'Not right away - the first time I became a power was all a trick, there was a lot of ...unpleasantness.' she shuddered as she remembered the icky grossness of her year being possessed - of being forced, against her will, to sleep with her own surrogate son, murder Lilah and release Angelus on Los Angeles; all before going into the coma that finally claimed her life. 'It's been a complicated five years.'

'But…' he backed away from her in distress, pushing his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more, 'you shouldn't even be able to have the visions - you're human. Human's aren't strong enough to withstand ...why would the powers let that happen?'

'They didn't mean to,' she told him, gently. 'They didn't realise the danger when you kissed me ...they didn't realise ...you _loved_ me.'

If at all possible, he managed to look even more guilt stricken at her words. 'I _do_ love you. That's why I would have _never_ ... this is all my fault.'

'What is?' she grabbed hold of his hands to keep him from backing away further, and forced him to hold eye contact with her. He shook his head 'you're being dead ...if it wasn't for me, you'd still be…'

'Mortal' she interrupted him, 'normal. Doyle, your visions were a gift to me, even if you never meant it. They gave me a purpose, it was my privilege to carry them. They meant I became the ruler in a demon dimension where all other humans were treated like cattle and they've made me a demigoddess now. Besides, they were my link to you. After you were gone, they were all me and Angel had left to remember you by. I wouldn't have given up the visions for the world.'

He didn't look completely convinced by her words, he looked very much like he was tumbling down a rabbit hole of self loathing for what he had unwittingly done. And Doyle had always had a problem with hating himself, and that had a tendency to manifest in destructive ways. Cordelia had to make him see that having her visions had been a good thing, she hadn't brought him to her here, in the afterlife, to make him suffer. 'I'm glad you gave me the visions.' she said 'They were an honour and I wouldn't change that. Sure things went badly after a while, but that's not your fault. I even became part demon so I could keep them.' She smiled. 'After all your worrying about telling me about your demon half, I _chose_ to become like you - except I don't turn green. I glow. And I can levitate. I mean, I'd rather not be dead -wouldn't we all? But I can't change that, and it doesn't suck seeing you again. I don't want you to feel guilty.'

'So...you're not mad at me?'

She shook her head, but then she changed her mind and nodded her head - slapping him across the face. He raised his hand to his stinging cheek 'Ow. What was that for?'

'For dying! Just when I'd decided I wanted to date you!'

'Oh - sorry.' he smiled at her, finally, seeming to let go of the guilt he had been feeling; and she beamed back at him. 'So - are we good here?' she asked. He nodded his head, still rubbing his face - Cordelia had a really hard hand! 'So why am I here? If you're not mad at me?' he wanted to know.

'You're going to help me help Angel.'


	3. Chapter 3: Two Weeks Earlier: Part Two

Cordelia had been watching Angel, in the mystical pool, for hours now. Sat over on the steps that led up to her throne, and shuffling his deck of cards; Doyle watched her, carefully, noting her grief. He frowned to himself - she had been staring too long, she needed to be distracted. It was obvious to him that Cordelia had fallen in love with her vampiric champion - and whilst it caused a painful tug in his heart, he could hardly claim to be surprised. He was jealous, sure enough, but he knew he had no right to be. He and Cordelia had only known each other for a matter of months, and he had died five years ago - it was amazing that she remembered him at all - he had no right to expect her not to have moved on.

He squirmed a little guiltily, actually it wasn't surprising she remembered him - what with him saddling her with those mind numbing vision migraines. The visions had killed her - when she was only 23. Given that he had all but murdered her himself, he couldn't be surprised she remembered him - but he sure was surprised she remembered him fondly!

And Angel was tall, and handsome and brooding. All sensitive mouth and overhanging forehead. He was a champion. He had super strength, and super agility and that long dark, flowing coat that billowed out behind him in that mysterious and attractive way. He was everything Doyle wasn't, in fact. What woman wouldn't fall in love with Angel? Especially one that shared his mission in helping the helpless.

But, even though he could completely understand how this had happened, he was still jealous. After all - Doyle loved Cordelia - and it was only natural that he would want her to love him back.

But Jealousy wasn't the only reason he wanted Cordelia to stop peering into her window to the lower planes - he wasn't that much of a heel. Watching Angel was causing her grief, and he hated to see her grieve. It was an unnecessary torment she was inflicting on herself, watching Angel from a distance - unable to reach him or be with him.

And painful as it was for Cordy to watch Angel deal with his loss, and grieve for her; it would be a heck of a lot more painful to watch him move on - find someone new. Sitting, watching Cordelia dwell on another man, Doyle could vouch well enough as to the pain of having your loved ones move forward without you. He didn't want this for her. He had to find a way to convince her to do something else. Anything else.

He was just clearing his throat, readying himself to come up with some distraction technique when she spoke. 'Doyle!' Her voice was sharp, worried. 'Come here!' He got up off the steps and walked over to where she stood, in the middle of the throne room, wondering what it was she wanted. When he reached her, she just pointed into the pool and he looked into it, with a frown, not understanding what could be so important that she needed him to see it.

Gazing into the pool did not clear up any of his questions. He had expected to see Angel, but he wasn't looking at his old friend. He wasn't looking at a person at all. It was a tree - stood in a field. A big, deciduous, leafy, oak looking thing - it certainly didn't look like it was growing in Southern California.

'What do you know about the Deeper Well?' Cordelia asked him.

'Nothin' - not heard of it - why?'

'This is the Deeper Well' she indicated the tree, ' It's demonic, it's ancient and it's powerful. And it's going to bring death and despair to Angel. Soon. I need to know about this. I need to help him.'

Doyle put his cards back into his pocket, and twisted his mouth up as he thought about her words. 'Well I can't help y' with the knowledge bit here, darlin'. But I'm thinkin' maybe I know someone who can.'

The fear actually left Cordelia's eyes for a moment, as she looked at him, and she laughed. 'Jeez - even dead you never change! Doyle always know's a guy.'

'Actually this guy is a girl. And I think you know her too. Here...'

He reached out and held Cordelia's hand - concentrating on the woman he wanted to bring into Cordelia's little kingdom, focusing his mind so that Cordelia could bring her forth. The higher power glanced down at where he was touching her. As his skin had made contact with her own she had felt a little spark of electricity crackle between them, and a jolt in her stomach reminded her of the way she had used to feel back in the early days of Angel investigations - when it was just the two of them upstairs in the office, whilst Angel brooded in the apartment below. But it lasted only a moment and then she was directing her attention back to helping Angel.

She let the half demon's thoughts, channelled to her through his touch, guide her as she snapped her fingers, bringing the woman he spoke of into her throne room.

There was a sudden flash of light and then two women were stood in front of Doyle and Cordelia. They were holding hands, not in romantic way though - more like they had been thumb wrestling at the exact moment Cordelia had called. The higher power looked at them. One was tall and blonde, and she had never seen her before. The other was shorter, with brown, curly hair and she looked a little familiar, although she was someone that Cordy hadn't seen since she left Sunnydale back in 1999. 'Anya?' She asked incredulously.

Anya and the other woman looked around the room. 'Where is this? We were busy. Go away' the former vengeance demon said bluntly.

'Actually, darlin', we were hoping for a bit of your expertise - if you don't mind.'

Anya's face changed as she heard his words. Anya was never difficult to flatter. 'I do know a lot of stuff' she agreed. 'I am an expert on most things, and knowledge is always important. What do you need to know?'

Cordelia showed her the mystical pool, and the image of the tree swirling around inside it. Both women moved forward so they could get a better look. 'That's the Deeper Well' Anya said. 'It's in England.'

'But What is it?' Cordelia asked 'What does it do?'

'All the demons that walk the earth today are halfbreeds - hybrids - like vampires' Anya explained 'demons mixed with human blood. But in the old days - and I mean _the old days_ \- demons were pure. Bigger. More powerful. They were always at war with each other, and then humans came along and completed the job, driving them out. Some pure demons - the old ones - left our dimension. The others were killed and buried here, in the Deeper Well.'

'Th - there are thousands of de-demons buried in there, and some are so p-powerful that they're more sleeping than dead.' the other woman added. Cordelia looked at her: 'Who the heck is this?' She asked.

'Ah - Cordy, princess, this is Tara. A friend o' Buffy's and a powerful witch. She's a proper scooby. I think she's here because she was connected to Anya when you brought Anya here. But her advice is always worth listening to, anyway.'

Tara smiled at Doyle's words, looking both embarrassed and pleased. Cordelia nodded, thoughtfully. 'So some of these Demons are more comatose than dead? What would happen if one got out?'

'That can't happen' Anya told her. 'They're guarded. And they're dead - or at least a vegetable.'

'I managed to get an awful lot done whilst I was a vegetable' Cordelia told her. 'And I didn't have the power of an old one at the time. The pool is telling me that something has left the Deeper Well, and it's going to bring trouble for Angel. We need to stop it.'

'We will Princess, don't worry.'

'D-do we know which demon has - has escaped?'

'It would have to be a very powerful one' Anya told the group. 'It would have had to have reigned over a massive kingdom and commanded great armies in its own lifetime if it still has the capacity to escape now. It suggests acolytes still existing today, people or demons still willing to help it. Whichever old one it is, it's gonna be the exact one that we don't want rampaging through the world, and its gonna leave a lot of people deader than Bambi's mother.'

The other three all glanced at each other at her words, surprised at her blunt choice of metaphor. Doyle shook his head, as if trying to clear the image of a mother deer shot by hunters from it. 'Can you see which one it is, Cordy?' he asked.

The higher power frowned, and concentrated her whole mind on the swirling mass inside the rune covered bowl, trying to parse out any helpful information. The three lower beings; the half demon, the vengeance demon and the witch, looked on, expectantly. Cordelia sighed. 'I can only get one word - a name - and it doesn't mean anything to me.'

'A name is good' Doyle assured her 'we can work with that. What is it?'

She tore her gaze away from the image of the Deeper Well and met the eyes of the three people stood beside her. 'I don't know if this means anything to anyone at all - but the word I'm getting is ' _Illyria'_.'


	4. Chapter 4: Two Weeks Earlier:Part Three

'So am I stuck in hell now? Is that what's going on?' Anya asked. Her three companions all raised their heads from their respective books and turned to look at her. 'You know, back when I was a vengeance demon I inflicted this sort of thing on men all the time - made them spend eternity cross referencing data, or looking up unknowable facts in the universe's biggest library. Sometimes I think I was kinder to the men whose entrails I just made explode.'

Doyle shifted awkwardly, moving his book across his knee as he rearranged his position. 'Ah - have I ever told you how _incredibly_ happy I am that I didn't meet you until after your demon days? Lotsa women would've been happy to see me cursed!'

Tara crinkled up her nose and smiled across at him, 'I can't believe that Francis.' But Cordelia snorted. 'Pft! I can… well maybe I don't believe the 'lots' part - lets not pretend that wasn't a stealth brag. But the _very few_ women unfortunate enough to encounter him romantically...yeah, once he'd drunk their beer and gambled away their money - I bet they were really gunning for him.'

'Hey!'

The higher power stuck her tongue out at her half demon friend, and they both chuckled before returning back to the task at hand.

The four of them were using all the knowledge of the heavenly planes to try and find reference to the word that Cordelia had manage to gain from the runic pool: 'Illyria.' She had willed an extensive library into existence within her throne room and now they were all sat around, perusing a hefty tome each. The going was slow. It was reminiscent of the hours they had spent in the school library, magic shop, or the office- looking up the latest creature feature. And whilst there was comfort in familiarity, there was also a fair amount of boredom.

Anya sighed. 'Well there's nothing in this one - next.' Tara handed her another book. The two of them were sat at a small round table, near to the book shelves. Cordelia reclined up on her throne and Doyle was sitting on the steps that led up to her. They had been sat this way for the past four hours and cramp, and impatience, was setting in. 'I miss the internet' Anya stated, as she turned to the first page of her new, very heavy book. 'Or - Tara - isn't there a spell that could help us find this quickly? There was that time that Willow sucked all the knowledge from the spell books into her body with her hands - it made her hair and eyes turn bl…' she trailed off as she remembered the circumstances behind Willow's actions, and fidgeted with guilt when she saw the pained look on Tara's face. She hadn't meant to upset the witch, she had just been thinking aloud.

'That's a form of dark magick that I would never use' Tara said 'even if I had access to that kind of power. Willow always had more power than me - but it came so easily to her that she didn't always know how to control it - or respect it. Knowledge has to be sought, it's hard won. There can be no shortcuts when it comes to gaining deeper understanding or wisdom.'

'I'm sorry - I didn't mean to -'

Tara reached out and squeezed her friend's hand reassuringly 'I know' she smiled. Tara had the most sympathetic, understanding smile - it made everyone who received it feel like they had found someone who looked into their soul, understood their very core- and accepted them just as they were. She had a way of looking at you that made you feel - just for a moment - that you were wonderful. No wonder Willow had gone off at the deep end when she had lost her.

The four of them settled back down into a studious silence and, for a long time, the only sound to be heard was that of the pages turning.

'Hang on a moment! I think I found something!' Doyle scanned his page once more to confirm what he had read, and then slapped the open book with the back of his hand. 'Yeah, here it is - Illyria!' The three women got out of their seats and hurried across to the half demon sat on the steps. Once they were all gathered round, peering over his shoulder, he read out the pertinent passage:

' _Of all the old ones who walked the earth, making it tremble and quake at their passing, none were so feared as_ Illyria _God King of The Primordium. Born when the world was new, Illyria ruled his dominion from his temple Vahla Ha'nesh, on Pangaea, and was served by a high priest - The Qwa Ha Xahn. He led the armies of doom against his rival old ones and survived until the swarm of man polluted the planet. He was feared and loved - as few others of his kind were, and his dominion lasted for a thousand aeons; before the scourge of mankind forced the old ones from the earth. Illyria was murdered by his rivals and placed in a stone coffin. Jewels beset the coffin to prevent resurrection and he was sent to rest in the deeper_ well...so there we go. _'_

'So - how - if he's been dead for so long - is he causing this kind of trouble now?' Cordelia asked. She was sat just behind Doyle, on the step up from him, and rested her arm on his shoulder, and her chin on her arm as she spoke. Her soft hair tickled against his face, and he tensed, involuntarily, at her touch. She gave him a slight glance when she felt his reaction, but continued on as she was. Of course she did, Doyle thought to himself. She loved Angel now, she probably felt nothing when she was in proximity to himself. But he still felt about her the way he had always done, and her closeness made his skin tingle.

'There's some more over the page', Doyle told her, managing to keep his voice even - and the higher power reached out and turned the leaf, frowning slightly at what she saw written there:

' _Illyria had planned for their own resurrection in the event of their death, and was prepared when his rivals came. He placed the temple of Vahla ha'nesh into a time slip, so it would be lost to the world, and sealed the armies of doom inside. Only Illyria could break the time slip and unlock the temple. The Qwa Ha Xahn was trusted with the knowledge of the resurrection and this was to be passed down unto the generations. Illyria's powers were such that he placed an enchantment upon himself, that when the time was ripe he would be returned to his old kingdom, where the high priest would return him to life.'_

She stopped reading. 'So where is Pangaea - this seat of his old kingdom thingy?'

'Oh that's an old demonic realm', Anya told her. 'Demons are always going on about the glory days of Pangaea and Gondwana - before man walked the earth. It's very tiresome.'

'No it's m-more than that!' Tara said, glancing between her vengeance demon friend and the higher power she served. 'Pangaea and Gondwana are the old super-continents, from the Paleozoic era. Illyria must have first come into being around 250 million years ago.'

'And he survived right the way up to the evolution of man?' Doyle whistled. 'I guess they weren't exaggerating with that 'thousand aeons' business.'

'That's just demon fancy talk' Anya replied. 'Demons always brag about things like that - I'm more ancient than you, my three spleens are spleenier than your three spleens, my spawn ripped the head off a Gromesh Death Lizard when it was still just a larvae. That sort of thing.'

'The - the end of the Permian period - when Illyria was new - marked the great-greatest mass extinction of all time.' Tara told her friends. 'It was called 'the great dying', almost all life on earth was completely wiped out.'

'And you're suggestin' that maybe this mass extinction wasn't because of drought or a meteor or whatnot? Your sayin' Illyria and his armies of doom did this? And now he's comin' back for more?' The Irishman looked positively alarmed.

'Well m-maybe? I mean it's j-just a theory.'

'No. it's a good theory. So Pangaea is a real place - or it was - and Illyria is scheduled to arrive there any moment. We need to find out exactly where this temple of Vahla ha'nesh is in real terms.' Cordelia told them. She disentangled herself from Doyle and moved over to the mystical pool in the the middle of the throne room. Her three servants glanced at each other, and then got up and followed her.

They gathered around the plinth, gazing into the swirling water. 'Show me Pangaea' Cordelia commanded. And some of the mist that eddied and spiralled on the surface began to clear, and the super-continent from a thousand aeons before took form. 'Mark the temple of Vahla ha'nesh.' A little light illuminated the centre of the map. The higher power nodded. 'Uhuh - now show continental drift to the present day.'

Before their eyes, the super-continent broke apart and the masses of land began to tear away from each other; floating out into the sea, forming and reforming, bumping into each other, diverting course, and eventually settling down into a pattern that was recognisable as a modern map of the world. The light that represented the temple of Illyria was still twinkling away on the left hand side of the left hand continent, as they looked at it.

'Hang on a minute' Doyle said 'Isn't that -'

'California.' Cordelia finished. They all looked at each other, a feeling of dread rising up in each of them, but most particularly Cordelia.

Illyria, God King Of the Primordium, destroyer of worlds, was headed straight to Angel.

'Right' said Anya, breaking the heavy silence. 'So we need a plan to stop this. God King of destruction headed to the homeland of the people we love. Thoughts, ideas, suggestions - let's think outside of the box!'

The image of the map rippled and dissipated and was replaced with the likeness of Angel. He was in his office at Wolfram and Hart, looking out of the window at the city below. It was night time. Spike came up beside him. The four people, watching in the heavens, could not hear what the two vampires were saying, but it was clear that Angel was melancholy and reflective. He had just lived through something that had hurt him.

Cordelia's eyes blurred with tears. 'He has no idea what is coming' she whispered. Doyle looked from the image of the vampire to Cordelia, stood in front of him - grieving for the things to come. 'We'll help him, princess' he told her, softly. 'We'll stop this.'

'How?'

He didn't have anything to say to that. For all of Anya's pep talk, he was out of ideas. How could they, dead as they were, fight a god to protect a vampire? But Tara was still thinking. 'In the b-book' she started, slowly, 'd-did it say Illyria would transport direct to his temple - or just to his kingdom?'

They all looked at her, and she blushed a little under their scrutiny. 'What are you thinkin', love?' Doyle asked.

'Well - it's just -it's - that lit-little light that marked the temple moved when the continent broke up. It's in a different place now. If the enchantment t-takes Illyria direct to the temple than that doesn't matter. But if the coordinates are set for where his kingdom used to be…'

'Then he'll end up somewhere completely different.' Doyle finished, nodding along. Cordelia looked irritated. 'What's going on? What are you talking about?'

'Bring the map up again Cordy.'

She sighed, but she did as he asked. The temple of Vahla ha'nesh still twinkled on the southern California coast. 'Where was it before the continents drifted?' Anya asked.

'Umm somewhere around here I think' the half demon pointed in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean. 'Cordy, can you get it to mark on its original location?'

Another little light sprung into existence and it was, as Doyle had indicated, floating on the middle of the ocean. 'So Illyria's gonna end up in the Ocean?' he mused. 'That won't do him much good.'

'Serves him right - he had that coming!' Anya said. But Cordelia was left unconvinced. 'I dunno, guys. If it was that simple -Illyria sinks to the bottom of the ocean - end of story - then why would I have got that information about the deeper well? No. I think there's more to it than this.'

'Can we see that - that exact spot? In real time?' Tara asked. Cordelia looked into the pool and once more the shimmering, swirling clouds of steam cleared to reveal a new image. This time it was of the ocean. And, as they watched, a ship sailed into view. The ship was headed in the direction of the West Coast. A name was visible, painted on the side: The Quintessa.

Doyle swallowed, nervously. He felt his mouth go dry and his palms begin to sweat. 'Is that where Illyria will end up? On that ship?' Cordelia nodded, her eyes were soft and sympathetic as she looked at her friend. Anya glanced between the two of them. 'What? What's the problem?'

Doyle swallowed again and cleared his throat before he spoke. 'That's the ship where I died.'


	5. Chapter 5: Two Weeks Earlier: Part Four

The customs official blinked in surprise as a woman just appeared in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. 'Who…?' his confusion was brought to an abrupt end when he was koshed on the back of the head and knocked unconscious. 'Jesus, Anya! Did y' have to hit him that hard?' Doyle asked, looking down at the prone man that lay by his feet. 'We don't want to kill him!'

'He'll be fine', Anya shrugged, 'switch clothes with him.'

'Alright ...but no lookin'!' The half demon took off his shoes and socks, and jacket, and then glanced around, abashed, before he pulled his shirt over his head. Tara wrinkled her nose, and smiled warmly as the little Irishman kept nervously checking that he was not being observed by his friends as he stripped. 'And one of you keep an eye on the door,' he told them, 'I don't wanna be interrupted when I'm half monty.'

The witch dutifully went over to the door to check for intruders, and Anya slid in behind the official's computer and brought up the documents for the cargo carried on the Quintessa. She scanned down for something that looked likely…'ancient sarcophagus, provenance unknown' - that was probably it. She deleted it from the manifest, and then printed the rest of the information.

Meanwhile, Doyle had finished stripping the customs officer, and had put on his uniform - it was a little big for the short half demon, but hopefully no one would look that closely. 'You got the info?' he asked. Anya handed it to him, he scanned it and nodded. 'Alright - and all I have to do is convince the captain to take this sarcophagus back out to sea and dump it?'

'That should do the trick,' Tara said from over by the door. 'We'll get the computer records changed so no one this end realises anything's amiss - you convince the captain to get rid of Illyria's coffin and- hopefully - problem solved.'

'What if the guy who's waiting for it comes lookin' for it?' Doyle asked, struggling to balance as he attempted to put on the official's boots whilst standing up.

'I've got lots of experience of this stuff from my vengeance demon days,' Anya said, 'you'd be surprised how many men's idea of hell is spreadsheets and red tape. By the time me and Tara are finished...it's gonna take the top legal mind in the country to wrestle this sarcophagus out of this mess - and they've only got a week to do it in.'

'OK then ...I'll get going', Doyle looked down at himself, dubiously. 'How do I look?'

Tara smiled at him again, 'you look very official, Francis, sweetie.'

He gulped, picked up the information Anya had printed and left the office. The two women sat behind the computer and worked away at getting the information changed. 'You know it's a shame Willow isn't here to help us,' Anya said, 'she'd be much faster at this than us.'

Down on the floor, the man began to groan. 'He's coming to!' Tara whispered.

'Shall I hit him again?'

But Tara shook her head. 'I think we should spare him the extra head lumps,' she said - and she muttered an incantation to put him into an enchanted sleep. They worked on. Illyria's sarcophagus was billed to one Dr. Andrew Knox who lived in Glenview, and together they altered his paperwork so that it showed he had improperly filed his documents - and so the coffin of the old one would be locked up in quarantine...

* * *

They had no intention of letting it sit in quarantine, however, not if there was a chance it might be eventually released and allowed to spread the bloodshed and mayhem that its very existence threatened. Doyle - with the shipping manifest that Anya had altered - was working on convincing the captain of the Quintessa that this one item was not on his list, and therefore couldn't be taken off the ship.

'Look, I don't know what to tell y', bud,' he said waving the list under the captain's nose. 'It's not on the list, if it's not on the list it cannot leave this ship. Where'd you pick it up anyway? Which port?'

But the captain didn't know, he didn't remember taking possession of it at any of the ports they had been to recently - it had just sort of ...appeared... one day. Doyle whistled, pretending to look surprised. 'Look, bud, that is not a good story and y' don't want to be tellin' it - y' could end up in a whole load o' trouble. If you didn't take delivery of it, then that means it's unchecked - there could be anythin' in there… you don't want this bein' tracked back to you.'

The captain looked at the large, strange box like creation, which had quartz stones embedded in the lid. It was hard to think what it was or what it might be for. 'Well, should we open it and see?' he asked.

'Are you crazy?' Doyle exclaimed. 'There could be drugs in there! Or anthrax...or...let me put it this way, it's not safe to open an unknown box and you sure as hell don't want your fingerprints on it. Nor do you want it goin' into quarantine in case people start askin' questions you can't answer - you wanna be done for smugglin'?'

The captain shook his head, no -he did not want that, of course not.

'So,' said Doyle, folding up his list and putting it away in his pocket, 'as a favour to you -I'll allow everythin' else off this ship - but you keep this..box- thing...here. And then when you sail away -wait til y' get to international waters and just ...lose it.'

'Burial at sea?' The captain grinned.

'If you know what's good for you,' agreed Doyle, 'but until then, man, keep it covered up - you don't want anyone comin' aboard and askin' questions.'

The Captain nodded his head, and thanked the ersatz custom's official for helping him out - he was good people. Then he squinted at the Irishman, looking like he was trying to remember something that danced just on the edge of his memory. 'Hey - do I know you from somewhere?'

The half demon gulped and then shook his head, 'no - must just have one o' those faces.' They walked up onto the gangway, ready to leave the cargo deck. Before he left, Doyle stopped to look out over the hold.

He remembered being here the last time - that bright, shining light that threatened to kill everyone with human blood within a quarter mile. He felt a jolt in his stomach as he remembered that sudden certainty of what he had to do - the realisation that Angel couldn't be allowed to sacrifice himself as he was too important to the good fight - that the sacrifice would have to be made by someone more expendable - by him. He remembered how quickly he had gone through so many emotions, the dread at the thought of dying - the grief at leaving the world - and Cordelia - so soon - and then the almost spiritual feeling of calm as he came to terms with what must be done.

He thought about that kiss - his first and last with Cordelia - and how he had tried to put so much meaning into it. How he tried to express to Cordy just how much she meant to him, how he felt about her, how sorry he was to leave her without having their chance to try for something more, but how certain he was that this was the exact right thing to do. Mostly, he had used that kiss to try and tell her he loved her. Apparently he had put far too much into that kiss, as he had passed on his crippling visions, which had eventually killed the woman he loved. If he could take anything back about that night - he supposed he would take back that… but he couldn't give up his memory of that kiss, he treasured it.

The captain had reached the door that led back out to deck, and he turned in surprise when he realised that Doyle was no longer with him. He looked back at the small man on the gangway, staring out into the hold. Is that it?' the captain asked, 'are we done?'

In his memory, Doyle heard his final scream of agony, and felt the burning, face melting power of the beacon wash over him. He gave himself a shake, 'yeah - we're done here.'

He left the ship and returned to the customs office - to Anya and Tara.

* * *

They had finished their work, the documents telling Dr. Knox that he couldn't collect his item were complete. They would be sent out in the next couple of days...and then a few days later the Quintessa would leave port once more - and the captain would dump Illyria's sarcophagus at sea. All's well that ended well.

With Tara acting as look out again, Doyle quickly changed back into his own clothes, and left the custom official's uniform neatly folded by the sleeping man. 'Will he be Ok?' he asked. Tara nodded, 'he'll wake up once we're gone - he won't remember anything… he might be a bit confused as to why he's taking a nap in his underwear in the middle of the day though.'

Once Doyle was dressed, Tara held out her hands to her two friends and used her magicks to return them to Cordelia's kingdom in their heavenly dimension.

* * *

'You're back', Cordelia threw her arms around Doyle, when she saw him, 'I was worried.'

'Everythin' went fine, Princess - all according to plan. Illyria will be swimmin' with the fishes in no time.'

'Thank you for doing this for me - and Angel.' Her arms were still wrapped tightly around his neck.

'Hey - I care about the big fella too, y'know?'

'I don't know why you had to frighten us with all that talk about being in danger and imperilling our immortal souls' Anya huffed. 'It made me worried - and nothing happened.'

'It's better that we know the dangers, sweetie,' Tara said to her, noticing that Cordelia still hadn't let go of Doyle yet. 'We can't die because we're already dead - but our souls can be obliterated to nothingness- forewarned is forearmed.'

Anya rolled her eyes.

Cordelia finally pulled away from Doyle, and looked searchingly into his eyes, 'and are you OK?' she asked. 'Going back there, was it alright?'

He shrugged, 'I'm alright, princess… it was…' he shook his head as he struggled to find the words, 'I'm OK,' he finished up.

'Well - that's good! Because -if your amenable - I have another mission for you guys,' the higher power told her friends. Anya rolled her eyes again. 'What is it this time?'

'I need you to go to the temple of Andulae and get the gem that they keep there - you need to be careful though, it might be guarded.'

'No rest for the wicked fighters, eh, princess?' Doyle said, and the three of them left her throne room to go and find this new artefact.

* * *

Cordelia turned back to the mystical pool that stood in the middle of her throne room and looked down at her dear boy - watching her champion make his way through a dark and deserted T.V studio all by himself. He would never know what she had done for him - how close this Illyria had come to destroying something precious and dear to him - and that he was saved from this pain by Cordelia and her friends. But it didn't matter that he would never know, she told herself, it only mattered that he was saved...


	6. Chapter 6: A Hole In The World:Part One

_**A Hole in The World:**_

'Guys get over here, look!' Cordelia had been gazing into her mystical pool, which showed her the lower planes of existence - and more importantly, Angel - for hours now. Doyle had been watching her watch the vampire for just as long, and every moment had felt like a knife twisting in his heart. _Of course, she's moved on_ he thought to himself, _it's been five years and you only knew her for a couple of months, what did you expect?_ But the trouble was, he was emotionally stuck in the place he had been when he had died five years previously… nothing had changed for him, because nothing could. Not until Cordelia had ascended to become a higher power and asked him to help her continue the good fight down on the lower planes.

Meanwhile Cordelia had continued to grow and develop as a person - and a hefty proportion of that change came from the visions he had saddled her with. Emotionally, she was in 2003 - and physically she was a goddess. He, however was in still in 1999 and was the same poor schmuck he had always been. It shouldn't come as a big surprise that she pined over the champion she had left behind… how could Doyle ever compare to Angel? Especially after everything Cordy had been through.

He got up and shuffled over to the pool to see what had caused her alarm, slipping his playing cards back into his pockets as he did. Tara and Anya appeared at his side, and together they peered down into the lower plane. The half demon felt his heart lurch right out of his chest and into his mouth: he was looking at Illyria's sarcophagus.

They had gone to a great deal of trouble to get rid of that - tying it up in customs and attempting to send it back out to sea, where the captain of the Quintessa had been advised to dump the cargo overboard the moment he hit international waters. But here it was, back again like the proverbial bad penny. And worse - it was being carried directly into the labs of Wolfram and Hart.

'I d-don't understand,' Tara stammered, looking aghast, 'we got rid of that… Francis told the captain…' she turned and looked at the small Irishman. He shrugged. There was no way this coffin could be where it was - not unless… 'someone must have cut through all that red tape,' Anya concluded, 'got it out of customs. Damnit!' she looked annoyed, 'I thought I'd sewn that up so tight that are Grarfulan knot monster couldn't work it's way through the tangles… I must be losing my edge.'

'I think some things are just meant to be - destined, darlin',' Doyle tried to reassure the put out ex vengeance demon. 'You're as bad as you ever were, love, but you're in no shape to go up against an Old One. If Illyria wanted to return to the seat of his power then that's what he was gonna do, no matter what, I'm thinkin'.' He glanced up at Cordelia, 'do you know what happened?' he asked. She shook her head, 'no but I can find out - _show me,_ ' she commanded to the pool.

The liquid began to ripple, and the mist on the surface swirled around as the picture began to form. It showed the interior of a room that looked like nothing so much as a demonic dentist's office. There was a tall, young man strapped to the chair - and he was being drilled into by the rather wild looking surgeon. The sound of the cutting stopped, 'upgrade's complete - and it's permanent this time, so about the small matter of our payment - my trouble with customs?'

The man sat up; up in her throne room, Cordelia gasped in horror, and brought a hand to her face. 'What is it?' Doyle asked her, but she just shook her head- tears were shining in her eyes.

Down in the pool, the young man was taking some paperwork from the surgeon. 'I'll get this fixed for you - no trouble at all.'

'Stop it,' Cordelia said, 'I don't wanna see anymore,' she turned her back on her mystical window to the world. Her shoulder were hunched, and she looked utterly defeated. The other three all glanced at each other, unsure as to why this was so upsetting for the higher power to watch. Anya looked at Doyle and then twitched her head in Cordy's direction, widening her eyes to try and speak to him without words. She was telling him to go and talk to their boss, he realised. Though he wasn't sure that maybe Tara wasn't better suited to this kind of work, he approached the upset woman.

'Uh, Cordy? Princess? What's wrong - what happened?' He moved so that he was stood in front of her, and took her hands in his own. She looked up at him, and he realised that she was crying. 'Oh, princess- don't,' he said to her, his own eyes reflecting back the pain that she felt, bleeding sympathy for her. 'Whatever it is - we can sort it - it's what we do, yeah?'

She gave a little shake of her head, 'it was Gunn,' she said, her voice choking on her words.

'What gun - what?'

'No - Charles Gunn - two ns. He was the man in the chair, the one who got the sarcophagus out of customs.'

'You know him?'

'He's one of us!' she cried, 'he's part of the team, he works for Angel. He's been there for years, since a couple of months after you died. He's part of the family...how - how could he do this?'

'Hey,' Doyle dropped one of her hands and raised his own to caress her face, the gentle pressure made her look up and look him in the eye. Distressed as she was, she still felt her skin tingle under his touch. But he hadn't noticed anything. 'I think it's fair to say that poor Charlie boy didn' know what he was doin'... that was some shady business he was gettin' in on, yeah, but… well, I've been there - done that. It doesn't make him a bad person. He doesn't have a crystal ball tellin' him the future. He needed somethin' and he paid the price for it. Trouble is, he's gonna have to pay more than he realised. Whatever that sarcophagus is gonna do, that's on Gunn's head now. So _we_ need to stop it. To save both him, and whoever else this Illyria might hurt, yeah? It's time for action.'

'Whatever it takes,' Tara chimed in, 'w-wherever we need to go - whatever we need to find. We won't let this bring the misery and destruction down on your family that is foretold. OK?'

Cordelia turned back around, to look at the two women, and gave the witch a grateful smile. 'OK.'

'Alright - time to get busy,' Doyle said, dragging Cordy back across to the pool, 'we need to see what's going on.'

'Show me Illyria's coffin,' the higher power commanded, and the mist began to swirl again, A new picture formed and there it was, sitting in the lab just like it had been when Cordelia had called them all over. But Fred was examining it now, she wore her white coat and her glasses, and was scrutinising the sarcophagus from every angle, taking notes as she did. 'She has to get away from there!' Cordelia said, 'we need to get her away from…'

But even as she spoke, the physicist reached out and touched one of the crystals that lay embedded in the stone. It pushed inward, like a button, and immediately a small window opened up in the lid. Fred bent her head towards it, frowning with curiosity, and then staggered backwards as particles of dust were expelled from the inside of the coffin with some force and shot straight into her face. She inhaled them and began to cough. Another scientist ran into the room, to check she was OK. Fred stared at the coffin.

Up on the higher planes, the four friends stared at each other, 'oh boy that can't be good,' Doyle said.

* * *

'Here, I think I've found somethin'!' Doyle called the women over to look at the book he was reading. It was the one from the library that had given them the information on Illyria in the first place. 'OK so listen to this: _the essence of the old one lay stored within it's tomb_ _awaiting the day when it would be free upon this earth once more…'_

'And I'm guessing today's the day,' Anya interrupted. Doyle nodded at her, and then continued to read, ' _the spirit of Illyria would be poured into a vessel and the demon would be made flesh once more.'_

'A vessel?' Cordelia asked, 'you mean Fred?'

'I think that's the gist of it, darlin', yeah.'

'So what happens to Fred once the demon is made flesh?' the higher power asked, 'is she like a vampire, or is she like you and Anya - part demon part human - or…?'

'None of the above, I'm afraid, princess - listen: _the vessel would be hollowed out - become an empty shell in which to contain the essence of the godking. The soul of the vessel would be forfeit - it would burn up in the fires of resurrection and be no more.'_

'So -F-Fred won't even go to one of the heavenly dimensions if we can't save her?' Tara asked, 'she won't come here and be with us?'

''Fraid not,' Doyle replied. 'If we don't stop this - there will be no Fred at all.'

'Then we _have_ to stop this!' Cordelia stated. 'There has to be a way - we have to find a way to save her.'

'I hear y', princess, but this book isn't very forthcoming with answers on how to do that - and we're pretty short on time. Fred is already infected. I know time moves differently up here, but we have to assume we've only got hours -at most.'

'I don't th-think we can save her body,' Tara said, 'from what Francis read, if she's being h-hollowed out even as we speak then…' the gentle witch didn't finish that sentence, but instead began a more hopeful one. 'It's her soul we need to save - f-find a way of getting that from her before it's all burned up.'

'If we can get her soul and store it we might be able to put her back together in time,' Anya reasoned. 'Dead bodies don't have to stay dead - we should know that, Tara - though I wouldn't recommend trying it at home unless you enjoy choking on snakes,' she told her two friends who had not been a party to the resurrection of the dead slayer. 'But if we store her soul we can funnel it back into her body - even if she won't be human anymore. There's a ton of different ways you can store souls; bottles, boxes, vases, urns - one time I even heard of a demon who kept the soul of an innocent trapped inside an enchanted tin can.'

'Yeah,' Cordelia agreed, thinking of her own experiences with trapping souls and forcing them inside bodies. 'We used to channel Angel's soul through an orb of thesulah - and then last year the guys stored it in a special jar a…' she wrinkled her nose up, 'a Muo-ping? I think? I dunno - I was crazy possessed at the time.' Tara smiled sympathetically, Anya patted the higher power on the shoulder. 'So you think we can do this?' Cordelia asked, looking around at her three servants. 'You think there's something out there that can hold Fred's soul?'

'It's worth a shot,' Doyle said, shrugging. 'I don't see we have any other choice.'

'Yeah - Angel still hasn't really got over losing me, yet,' Cordelia said, her voice wobbled a little as she spoke, 'he can't lose Fred as well. And Gunn - having to live with what he's done… And Wesley …'

'And y'know - _Fred!_ ' Anya pointed out, 'we should save her for own sake - not the guys'.'

'Right - of course.' The higher power tore her thoughts away from Angel's pain and concentrated on the woman they were trying to save. 'You know she lived for five years in a demon dimension where they used humans as cattle? She ran away from her owner and lived all alone in a cave in the woods. She went completely crazy. But she survived…'

'And she'll survive this, darlin', if we've got anythin' to do with it.'

Cordelia smiled up at the half demon. He was gazing back at her, intently, but his eyes were gentle. She had forgotten just how green his eyes were -and how intense they could be - all those years he had been gone. Looking into them now, she felt a sudden lurch in the pit of her stomach - and she hastily got up and headed over to the mystical pool once more.

Forcing Doyle and his eyes from her mind, she concentrated on Fred and began to scry for an artefact - in any dimension - on any plane - that could help her store her friend's soul before it was burned up forever. The surface of the pool began to churn, as she searched through worlds as if she was flicking through channels on a television. Eventually, the mist cleared away, and the liquid became as still as a mill pond - and the image of an artefact swam to the surface.

It was a chest - wooden, and ornately carved. Writing, in an archaic language, was inscribed around the lid - and there was a large brass lock. Opening the chest would summon a soul in peril, and closing it would allow the soul to be stored for a thousand years. Well, they didn't need a thousand years - they only needed as long as it would take to work out how to channel Fred's soul back inside her body.

'Where is the chest?' Cordy asked the pool - and the image changed again, showing her where to find the artefact. 'Oh,' she breathed, 'dear...'

* * *

Doyle, Tara and Anya touched down at their destination - courtesy of Tara's magicks. They looked around them in trepidation. The chest was kept in a hell dimension, one of many, and the gang feared that getting to it would prove to be rather more difficult than stealing the gem of Andulae from the galgamesh demon.

They had entered into a large chamber; with stone walls, and flaming torches held in brackets illuminating the place with their flickering light. The room looked a lot like a dungeon, but other than that was not too terrifying. 'Is this it?' Anya wondered, 'I cursed a lot of men to spend eternity burning in hell dimensions. I'd hate to think that this was all they were getting.'

'Have I ever mentioned to you just how much I _don't_ enjoy these little anecdotes of yours about how many of the Y chromosome you've maimed, tortured and killed?'

'Well suck it up, Irish man, I've killed more men than smallpox and they _all_ deserved it.'

'Shhh,' Tara hushed the two bickering demons. 'This isn't all there is - Cordelia said this was like a quest - we have to travel through pain and suffering in order to pass to the other side and find the chest.'

'Pain and suffering,' Doyle muttered, 'I really don't like the sound o' that.'

'I think we need to go through there,' The witch pointed at a large wooden door that was in the opposite wall. It had a brass knocker, shaped like a lion. There was an inscription carved into the stones above: _qui quaerent intrare, scitote: Tamen venire te in unum, progredi vos soli._

'Man, Latin,' Doyle breathed, 'one of those dead languages they always made me learned - what's it say?'

'All who seek to enter, know this:' Tara translated for him, 'though you arrive together, you must go forward alone.'

'Well, that doesn't sound good!'

The three of them looked at each other, 'well, shall we?' the half demon asked. The two women nodded, and he lifted the knocker and banged it against the wood. All by themselves, the bolts holding the door locked slid back, and then the door creaked open. The three of them shuffled over the threshold and through the gateway into hell. As the door swung shut behind them, they each glanced around - and realised that their friends had vanished. Each one of them was now completely alone...


	7. Chapter 7: Tara's Hell

_**Tara's Hell:**_

Tara looked around. She didn't know where the others had got to - they had been right there when they had walked through the door and now - she was completely alone. They had simply vanished. 'Anya?' she called out, 'Francis?' But there was no reply. She turned to try and go back the way she had come - to see if they had simply not followed her through the door - but the doorway had disappeared behind her. The stone of the walls was smooth and uninterrupted - and there was no exit. She would have to go forwards.

As she took her first step, she heard a sudden gusting, snicker of noise; a malevolent whisper that echoed around the space. Then there was another - and another - and the sounds began to magnify. It got louder and louder, the horrible whispering, and then came a slithering, crawling noise - like something moving close to the ground. That, too, was joined by another and another, and soon it sounded like the whole floor must just be a seething carpet of these creeping, crawling things. And all the noises were so intense now that Tara could hardly think anymore - could barely remember who she was or what she was doing there.

But she did know one thing, the unseen creatures that crept in the darkness were slithering towards her. They were coming for her, would crawl over her skin. They were pinching things that would crawl through her ears and into her skull - and they would hurt her - because she was bad.

No… she was here for a … but she couldn't hold the thought. The noise was too much, the whispering and the slithering.

They could see her - these things - whatever they were. They could see her in the dark, though she couldn't see them. She was exposed. They were _looking_ at her. They _saw_ her. Everything she thought, everything she did… they knew, they saw. And they would hurt her for it. The slithering grew louder, as if the pinching creatures were closer.

The witch put her hands over her ears, to block out the noise and to stop them from crawling inside of her. But it wasn't enough. She could feel the smothering darkness pressed against her, and hear the whispering. She was lost. She was so lost. And she needed to think - to find a way out. She knew - _knew_ \- that if the noise and the crawling would just stop - even if only for a second - then she would be able to remember how to get out. But the noise didn't stop, and her flesh crept as the pinching things slithered all over her.

She began to cry. But they were looking at her. They were watching her cry. They were laughing. They would hurt her for crying. She was crying because she was bad - this was something else wrong she had done - and the pinching creatures would get inside her skull and hurt her for it.

She was here for… she was… she couldn't hold the thought. The darkness pressed in and the noises grew louder. She was so lost - she would never escape. If only the noise would stop then she could think, but the noise got louder, as she knew it would.

Why did she know?

She felt the slithering across her flesh and shivered. This was familiar. Why did she know this? The dark pressed in and she felt the eyes of the creatures watching her, judging her - looking into her soul and finding her wanting.

She knew this place.

'I've been here before,' she gasped. 'I've _left_ here before.' But how had she got out? The noise would have to stop if she was going to think straight - but the noise would never stop - she knew that. There was no way out of this place alone - the noise and the crawling and the shame made sure of that. She hadn't got herself out last time - someone had found her.

' _Oh Willow I got so lost.'_

' _I found you. I will_ always _find you.'_

Willow.

Willow had found her. It was Willow that had made the noise and the crawling and the pinching go away. And she had brought the whole world rushing back for Tara. Just at the thought of her name, Tara found herself feeling better - braver - more clear headed.

Willow.

The slithering retreated a little bit - they weren't on her skin anymore - and she took her hands from her ears and opened her eyes. Just the memory of the witch was enough to make the madness and the fear back away. 'Willow,' she said into the darkness. The whispering got quieter too - the creatures were falling back, moving away from her. She could think clearer now. 'Willow,' she said again - and her voice was strong this time. The slithering and the whispering stopped - and the darkness began to fade.

She remembered now - she was here to get the chest that would hold Fred's soul. She had lost her friends, but she could find them later - she had a job to do. She took a step forward and heard the susurration of the creatures again. ' _I'm under your spell,'_ she sang under her breath. The whispering died down. There was no way back the way she had come - but she could see her way forward. ' _How_ y _ou set me free, brought me out so easily…'_ she took another step. And then she could see the door ahead of her - the way out. ' _You make me complete you make complete,'_ she sang as she hurried for the door. She could still feel the pinching creatures watching her, knew they were lurking. But she was protected now - and - with the memory of Willow in her heart and their song on her lips - she walked through hell and made it to the other side.


	8. Chapter 8: Doyle's Hell

_**Doyle's Hell:**_

The door swung shut behind Doyle, and he turned, as he heard it slam. Looking around the chamber, he frowned as he realised that he couldn't see either Tara or Anya. 'Tara?' he shouted out, into the room, 'Anya? Ladies? Anybody?' But he was met only by silence. OK, this couldn't be good.

He turned back, thinking to go back out through the door and see if he had simply left his friends in the ante chamber. But, to his dismay, he found only an expanse of smooth solid wall. The door had vanished and the only way was forward. And he was apparently going to have to go it alone. He could only hope that he would run into the women again, at some point in the near future. Tara could use her magicks to access different dimensions, and Anya could teleport, but he… he was less gifted in that sense. If he didn't find the others, he would be trapped here forever. He'd never see Cordelia again.

But - alone as he was - he still had a mission to complete. He had to find the chest that could hold Fred's soul -without that her essence would be burnt up in the fires of resurrection, when Illyria hollowed her out and took her body. Cordy was counting on him to find the artefact that would save her friend - and he wasn't going to let Cordelia down - he had let too many people down in the…

His thoughts were cut off, as heard the steady thump off jackboots running past. He felt the floor tremble in their wake. He knew that sound - and he felt the icy grip of dread stab into his heart, as he recognised it. _The Scourge._

And then the screaming started up. Doyle whirled around, as he tried to locate where the sound was coming from. He didn't know whether he wanted to run towards them - to help them, or to run away from them - to keep himself safe. But as the screaming intensified, he knew that - either way - he couldn't just stand by the doorway and do nothing, he had to move. He took his first step,and immediately tripped up over something small, lying in his path. He bent down and picked it up.

It was a tiny, pink sneaker.

And then he understood, with horrifying clarity, exactly where he was - and who the screaming belonged to. As he moved further into the room, the screaming became clearer - and he could hear the different voices that made up the noise. Some of those voices were so very young. He stumbled forward, still gripping the little girl's shoe - hoping that this time he would get to her, before it was too late.

But it was not meant to be.

He found her, lying face down - her eyes glassy and wide, staring into nothingness. Red blood trickled down the side of her green face. She was tiny - smaller than the children he had used to teach, when he was human. She couldn't be more than four or five. A tiny, demon child, wearing one pink sneaker. Her other foot was clad only in a frilly sock.

Doyle didn't know why, but he crouched down beside her and put her other shoe on for her - like she was Cinderella. Then he reached out to close her staring, dead eyes.

The screaming died down, and the rumble of the jackboots faded away - and Doyle was left in eerie silence, sitting beside the body of the murdered child. The child he had failed to save - the child he had allowed to die. He picked up her lifeless hand, and held it in his own, warm one. He could feel the demon child's own warmth beginning to evaporate, and her fingers begin to stiffen - as her body adjusted to no longer being alive.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, bowing his head.

How inadequate his words sounded. It felt almost offensive that he would apologise to her, offer his condolences on her brutal murder - when it was all his fault. He had killed her, as surely as The Scourge ever had. She should have been safely hidden away, somewhere the pure blood demons would never think to look for her. But he had refused to help.

An elder from this clan of demons - maybe one of Doyle's own kinsmen - had come to him begging for his help. He had almost wept, as he tried to convince the half demon to give his family a safe place to hide. But Doyle had turned him away. And that man had died, and other men alongside him, and women too… and all their children.

Still sitting beside the dead little girl, he sighed deeply, tears standing out in his own eyes, as he thought of what he had done. It was a feeling of utter despair, so intense that he didn't quite know how to deal with it. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't bring this girl back, or make it OK again.

And with the despair came shame. Hot and overwhelming, burning in the pit of his stomach. To think that he was so cowardly as to let this happen, so selfish as to think of his own safety and allow an entire family to be slaughtered.

It was the demon in him, he thought. The human version of himself would never have let this happen, would never have sent away people asking for his help. But the demon… the demon was a different matter altogether. He was a drunken, pitiful, lowlife who had chased away everything good in his life, destroyed everything he had and then wallowed in his own maudlin self pity. He had never stood a chance. Once he was a demon, he simply lacked the ability to be good- to do the right thing. He was contaminated by the monster in his genes, made dirty by his lack of humanity. He was the very thing that the priests had lectured about from their pulpits every Sunday, when he was a boy - and it sickened him.

He squeezed the girl's stiffening hand ... and realised her skin was green. Her face was covered with the same blue spikes that marred his own whenever he sneezed. She was a demon. This tiny little girl. This innocent. He couldn't sit there, clutching her hand - and blame everything that had gone wrong in his life on his species. Not when he shared a species with her. She wasn't dirty because she was a demon - and if she wasn't, then neither was he.

The truth was worse than that.

It wasn't the demon that had turned away this family - that had had them killed. It was himself all along. It was him, just him - as he was, that was too weak to cope with the changes his demon half had wrought. It was he alone that had driven his wife away, and lost his job, and allowed himself to fall through the cracks and end up where he did. There was nothing wrong with the demon that wasn't already wrong with the human. He was weak, and pathetic, and disgusting, a loser and a drunk, and he had no one to blame but himself.

And so Doyle just sat there - beside the dead little girl - contemplating his own failings and feeling sorry for himself. He couldn't even remember how it was that he came to be there, beside this murdered child. But it was all his fault, he knew that much. So he sat there, almost drunk with self loathing, immobile and unable to move.

The sound of the jackboots started up again, and slowly, he brought his head up to look around. The Scourge were coming back - they would kill someone else - if he could just move he could help, he could stop the pure blood army.

This little girl was dead - and he would have to carry the weight of that guilt forever - but there was nothing he could do for her now. But maybe he could prevent another massacre, try and make up for his previous failures. He could atone.

 _Atone._

That sparked something in his head. He had atoned. Or he had tried to. The Powers That Be had punished him for what he had done - cursing him with the visions - and he had used them to try and balance out what he had done in the past. And whilst he could never save this little girl and her family - he had given his own life to prevent another demon family from dying, had saved other children and their parents.

Maybe his sacrifice didn't wipe the slate clean - but it had to mean something. Perhaps he had managed to redeem himself in some small way.

And the thing with redemption, Doyle thought, as the jackboots got louder, was that you never ran out of chances. There would always be some other way you could try and make things up to the universe - try and balance the scales. But you had to take those chances. You couldn't just sit there and wallow in self pity - no matter how good at doing that you were.

He was in this room for a reason and - even as the steady thump of the boots pounded in his head - he racked his brains to think what that reason was.

This girl - this murder - this had happened years ago. This was just a replay of a past event. He had moved on from this… wait - wasn't he dead now? Yes - he must be - he had died saving that other family, so now he must be dead. And he had come here because ...because…

He closed his eyes, and tried to think why - what had led him to this chamber, empty save for the dead little girl lying in the middle of it.

She had died… and he had - he had got the visions. And then he had the visions of the Lister demons - and there was The Scourge, and their beacon… and he had kissed Cordelia and… Cordelia. She had sent him here. She was a higher power, and he worked for her now. He was here on a mission - another chance to redeem his bruised soul. He was meant to be saving Fred.

The Irishman dropped the little girl's hand, saying sorry one last time, and then forced himself to his feet. He couldn't save this girl - but he could save another one, and he was going to. No power in the verse was going to stop him. Not the Scourge and not himself. He stumbled forwards, focusing on Cordy and his mission with every step. And, keeping the idea of atoning for his past sins - and saving Cordelia from the grief of losing yet another friend - firmly in the forefront of his mind, he walked through hell and made it to the other side.


	9. Chapter 9: Anya's Hell

_**Anya's Hell**_

The door closed behind Anya, and she tutted in impatience, as she realised the others were not with her. 'Tara?' she called out, 'Doyle? - Jeez, guys, where are you?' She turned back to return the way she had come - but the door seemed to have vanished, and there was nothing but a smooth expanse of wall, blocking her way back. She was completely alone. That pissed her off. Looked like she was just going to have to find this chest thing all by herself. And if it was all down to her - then she'd better make a start.

She turned back around to peer into the gloom of the new chamber she was in…

… and screamed.

A small, fuzzy bunny sat in front of her. His fur was a golden, tawny colour, and his big, pointy ears were lopsided. He fixed her with a stern, bunnyish stare and then began to clean himself with his little front paws. She screamed again.

Then, beneath her screams of terror, she heard the soft flumping sound of tiny paws moving towards her. When she peeked about her, she saw two more bunnies closing in. These were bigger than the first one, and had floppy ears and twitchy little noses. One was a white grey, and the other was a velvet black. The vengeance demon felt her blood freeze in her veins.

The greyish bunny stood up on her hind legs, periscoping, to get a better view at the human who had disturbed her. She butted the woman's leg with her soft nose. Anya shrieked again. And the black bunny thumped her back foot to show her displeasure at the noise.

Anya backed away, shaking her head in horror. But as she peered through the chamber - searching, desperately, for a way out of this cotton top hell - she realised that the whole floor was simply swarming with the little fluffers. Bunnies of every size, breed and colour; grooming themselves, grooming each other, standing up, stretching out, hunkering down, hopping, skipping… and she knew they could see her. This was what all the carrots were for. So that when someone fell down this rabbit hole of hell, the little fuzzballs could see them in the dark - and hippity hop all over their vulnerable flesh.

The door - the way out - was right the other side of the chamber. She could just about make it out in the gloom. But in order to get there, she would have to cross this endless, furry sea of… bunnies.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. They were only - only bunnies. Floppy. Hoppy. Bunnies. She covered her head with her arms and - screaming the whole way - ran through hell, and made it to the other side.


	10. Chapter 10:A Hole In the World: Part Two

_**A Hole In The World: Part Two:**_

'Where the hell have you two been?' Anya looked at her two friends, angrily. 'I had to cross hell itself - all alone- there were bunnies… some had floppy ears.'

'Bunnies?' Doyle asked sounding confused.

'Big ones, small ones, all hoppy legs and twitchy little noses.'

'Bunnies?' He was beginning to sound annoyed. 'You spend 1000 years punishing men in the most unimaginable and disgustin' ways, you never pay for that, and when you walk through hell you're faced with a room full o' _bunnies_?' He looked at Tara, 'how is that fair?'

'Anya's frightened of bunnies,' the witch explained to him, 'I'm sure her hell was just as awful for her as ours was for us.' She didn't sound completely convinced, though.

The former vengeance demon looked between them, 'you guys were in that hell room too?' Both her friends nodded. 'Remember the inscription?' Tara said, 'we had to cross it alone, I think we got our own, _personal_ hell.'

'I got an army of pureblood demons and a dead little girl - and you got _bunnies_?' Doyle wasn't getting over the discrepancy any time soon.

'Bunnies frighten me.'

'You are one crazy ex vengeance demon, you know that?' He sighed, and shoved his hands in his pockets - looking around the chamber they now found themselves in. 'so what do we do now?'

'We need to get the chest,' the witch said, she too looked around the room they were in. It was similar to the antechamber: a low, cavernous room, with rough hewn stone walls and flickering torches. It seemed to open out at one end, leading down a dark tunnel. 'I guess we go that way, then?' Anya said, peering down the passageway, 'though it's dark and twisty, the likelihood of some hell demon popping out and obliterating our immortal souls is quite high.'

'No I think we've passed the test,' Tara told her, 'we could have been trapped in hell forever, we got out - we've proven ourselves, we just need to find the thing.'

'Y' sure about that, darlin'?' Doyle asked her.

'Pretty sure.'

'OK - follow the yellow brick road, then.' He took a deep breath, and then planted his first foot down in the tunnel. He scrunched up his eyes and tensed his body, as he did so. When nothing happened, he pried one eyelid open and peered around. 'OK - maybe it's safe, let's go.'

They walked on down the tunnel, following the twists and turns, tripping up over the bumps in the uneven floor. It was dim, and gloomy, and they had to strain their eyes to see ahead, and strain their ears to check for any sounds of lurking demons. But all remained quiet around them, and the only noise was the sound of their footfalls on the rocky path.

Eventually, they saw a glimmer of light shining at them in the darkness. 'We're comin' to the end now, ladies,' Doyle said, 'brace yourselves for horrors.'

But the horrors never materialised. Instead, as they reached the end of the passageway, they entered in a wide open hall that shone with gold. Every surface gleamed at them, blinding them. The floor was marble, and the high ceiling was glass. Light shone down, flooding the room and then bouncing off the burnished walls. There was a beautiful frieze carved into the golden walls and - even though they did not have much time - they couldn't help but stop and look at it.

'What is it?' Anya asked, 'what does it show?'

Tara frowned as she followed the pictures around the room. 'Illyria,' she said.

'What?'

But the witch pointed to the beginning of the frieze, and the giant landmass, 'it's telling the story of Illyria, there's Pangea and look,' she pointed at a depiction of a horrific demon and an army trailing in its wake, 'there's the god king of the primordium and his armies of doom, and then …' she pointed to the next picture, 'Illyria is killed, and placed in the deeper well… the continents shift… and Illyria rises again…' she pointed at a carving of a boat, 'that's even the quintessa.'

'And what's this bit?' Doyle asked, pointing to the second to last carving. It showed a woman, lying on a bed, a man holding her in his arms. 'Fred,' Tara said simply, 'Fred dying and then,' she pointed at the very last drawing, 'Illyria rises again.'

Doyle whistled, 'so _all_ of this was preordained?'

'Yes - but then so was the remedy - the chest.' The witch pointed to a marble pedestal in the middle of the room. The wooden chest sat on top of it. 'This must have been created especially to save Fred's soul. It was placed here especially for us to find. Eons ago.'

'Well - that's a stroke of luck,' Anya shrugged, and went over to take a closer look at the chest. 'Hey - there's something carved in Latin around the pedestal,' she told the others. 'Just like over the door in the ante chamber.' The other two moved in to look at it. 'Can you read it?' Doyle asked Tara. The witch nodded. 'Does it say anything good?' he asked, hope in his voice. She shook her head. ' _Unum finalis iudicii,_ ' she read, 'one final trial. _Lavacra flamma._ The cleansing flame.'

'That sounds … bad,' Doyle said, frowning.

'It's a trial,' Tara said to the others, 'a test - just like getting through hell - so if we do this right, it won't obliterate us. This chest exists to save Fred's soul … there has to be a way to get it out of here, we just have to prove we're worthy.' Her friends nodded and each of them took a deep breath, readying themselves for whatever was to come. 'I think the - uh - cleansing flame won't come until we take the chest,' the witch explained.

The half demon nodded, 'OK then. We all take it together, on the count of three - 1 … 2...3!'

They all reached out and grabbed the chest, lifting it from it's marble stand. The moment it left its resting place it began to vibrate and glow. The three friends looked at it, uncertainly, but kept clinging on. And then they heard a distant, roaring sound… coming ever closer. 'Do you hear that?' Anya asked, twisting around, struggling to maintain her grip on the reverberating box at the same time.

'I have a really bad feelin' that that might be…'

But Doyle was cut off… as the roaring grew louder and an orange glow started to emanate from the dark tunnel they had come down. As they stared into the passageway, a great tidal wave of lava flowed out of it, breaking through the end of the tunnel and crashing into the room.

'Keep holding the chest,' Tara screamed out, 'if we let go we'll burn up.'

They stared, in wide eyed horror, as the curling body of flame rushed towards them, and then washed over them. They screwed their eyes shut, and felt their hair whip around in the wind caused by the fiery surge. The flames licked at their skin, hotter than the coals of hell; singeing, burning. 'Keep holding on,' Tara yelled, and the three of them, eyes still screwed shut, faces turned away from the onslaught, tightened their grip on the box.

The chest continued to vibrate, the movement getting faster and more violent, as the flames leapt around them. And then - the glow from the chest intensified - the lid shot upwards and light poured out from inside the container. It acted like water, damping down the flames, dousing them, beating them back. Slowly, ever so slowly, the light filled up more of the chamber, and the fire filled up less, until it burned lower and lower before extinguishing completely. The glowing light died down too, the lid snapped shut again, and the box went still. The three friends looked at each other: shell shocked.

They were still in one piece, and unharmed by the flames; slightly sooty and singed, but not burned. There was a hissing sound - like cold water hitting a hot frying pan - and smoke curled around the room. They looked at the effect the cleansing flame had had on the chamber. It gleamed no longer. The walls were bubbling and melting and blackened, the glass of the ceiling had cracked, and rained down on the floor. The marble floors were charred and filthy. The whole place was a blackened, charred, pit of destruction. But - miraculously - the three friends, and the chest remained intact.

'I guess we passed that test,' Anya said, wrinkling her nose at the burning smell, 'can we get out of here, now?' And, having completed all of the trials, Tara was now able to use her magicks to take them back to Cordelia.

* * *

'Oh my goodness, what happened to you?' The higher power squealed, when Doyle rematerialised in her throne room. She began to fuss over his soot stained appearance, 'did you get burned, are you hurt?'

''M fine, Cordelia - we got the chest.'

She threw her arms around him, in a tight embrace. He stood there and enjoyed it. Behind them, Tara and Anya looked at each other. Tara was biting her lip, fighting down a smile - but Anya looked irritated. 'We're fine too, you know,' she said. 'It wasn't just the leprechaun that got hit by a tsunami of fire… and I had to cross a room full of bunnies.' She shuddered.

Cordelia ignored her, and pulled back from Doyle - though she kept her hands on his shoulders - so she could scrutinise him better. 'You're sure you're OK?'

'Never better, princess.' He meant it too. Tara and Anya weren't the only one who had noticed that the higher power was only interested in the well being of her male servant - or who had an inkling as to why that might be. 'How's Fred doin'?' he asked.

Cordelia's expression changed from one of relief, at getting Doyle back in one piece, to one of sadness. 'There isn't much time,' she said, pulling her friend over to the mystical pool of water. 'Show me Fred,' she said to her window into the worlds, and the surface of the liquid shimmered and changed, to reveal the inside of a bedroom.

Doyle, Tara and Anya peered down into it. Fred was lying on the bed. She was weak, her eyes were closed - and her skin was turning hard, as she was hollowed out from the inside. A tall man, wearing spectacles, was reading to her from a large and ancient book. 'She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve - and Sara Crewe was only seven.'

'A little Princess,' Tara said.

'What?' Cordelia looked at her, frowning - and the witch blushed. 'Oh - uh - that's wh- what he's reading… to her.'

As they watched, Fred seemed to drift back to sleep - and Wesley ceased his reading. He put the book down and lay on the bed with her, wrapping his arm around her - and kissing her, tenderly, on the forehead. His face was a study in suffering. 'Poor guy,' Doyle said, glancing up at Cordy, and then back down into the pool.

'Would you read to me some more?' Fred said - she obviously wasn't truly asleep.

'Of course,' Wesley got off the bed and went to retrieve his book, but he was distracted when the woman suddenly cried out. 'The light,' she gasped, '...hurts my eyes. But I don't want you to turn it off, but it hurts my eyes. Everything's so bright and hollow…'

Wesley watched her; the tears stood out in his eyes, as he watched her distress and agony, and they threatened to fall. But he bit his lip and stayed strong - for her.

'You have to go them,' Cordelia said to her friends, 'now - before it's too late. I wanted to give them as long as possible together, give them a chance to say goodbye,' it was her turn to glance at Doyle - just for a moment, 'proper goodbyes can make things easier,' she said. She gazed back down into the pool. 'But if we don't act quickly, Fred's soul will burn up in the fires of resurrection - it's time to get her out of there.'

Her three servants nodded, picked the chest back up - and used magick to land in Fred's bedroom. Cordelia watched them from the heavenly plane.

* * *

'Why did we go there?' Fred asked, weakly. 'Why did we think we could beat it? It's evil, Wesley, it's bigger than anything.'

Wesley leaned in towards her, and gripped her hand, 'I don't believe that,' he whispered, keeping his voice sure and forceful. But it was not enough to convince Fred - and she moaned in despair.

Tara, Anya and Doyle landed in the room - holding the chest between them. They opened it up. 'Fred, sweetie,' Tara said to the dying woman, 'you need to come with us, now.'

Wesley remained oblivious to their presence, but Fred could see them, and she scooted up the bed and clung to the headboard. 'I'm with him,' she cried out, pointing at Wesley. 'He won't leave me now, we're so close.'

'I will never leave you,' Wesley's promise was a furious whisper.

Fred began to pant, 'that was bad,' she told the watcher, 'but it's better now.'

'Fred, darlin',' Doyle said to her, 'it's you that has to leave him. I know it's hard. I know you don't wanna - believe me - I've been there. But it's time to go, now. You have to leave Wesley - and Angel - behind.'

'My boys,' Fred said, her eyes glazing with tears. She ignored the man at the end of the bed and looked up into the face of the man she loved. 'I walk with heroes,' she said to him, 'just think of that.'

Wesley was crying, now - but desperately trying to hold himself together, 'you are one,' he told her.

'Fred you have to come with us,' Anya told her, 'this is the only way we can save you - you're dying, but we can make it better.'

Fred ignored her, 'and this is my power,' she said to Wes, 'to not let them take me.'

'That's right,' Wesley whispered.

The three friends all looked at each other, 'this isn't going to work,' Tara said, 'she doesn't trust us. She has to let go of her body before Illyria takes it - but she's clinging on, for Wesley.'

'Fred, love, I know y' wanna stay here for Wesley, that you're holdin' on with all your might to stay with him - to try not to hurt him.' Doyle said, softly.

'That's right,' Fred said, staring up into Wesley's face.

'But the truth is - you're dyin', darlin' - and we can save your soul - keep you until you can be with Wesley again, but you have to leave him behind _right now_.'

Fred laced her fingers between Wesley's own, 'he's with me,' she replied, stubbornly. She gazed at the watcher, until the light hurt her eyes too much - and once she closed her lids, Wesley held her close once more.

'Fred - your soul is in danger,' Tara said to her. 'Illyria is being reborn using your body. Your insides are liquefying - and when the god king finally germinates, your entire soul will be destroyed.' Fred gasped in pain, and Wesley held her tighter. 'But we can save you,' the witch continued. 'You need to let go - let yourself go - and your soul will be kept inside this box until we can find a way to put you back with your body. If you let yourself die now - then there is a chance you can live again - with Wesley.'

'Cordelia sent us to you,' Doyle said to the dying woman - keeping his voice low and gentle, 'she wants to save you, she wants to help you - but you have to help her do it. You need to say goodbye now, darlin'.'

Fred opened her eyes and looked at Wesley. Perhaps the mention of her old friend had convinced her, or maybe the pain was now just too great to bear. But either way, she nodded - almost imperceptibly - but the three friends saw it. She was ready to come. 'Will you kiss me?' she asked Wesley, her voice small. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, tenderly, passionately. She pulled back from him, 'would you have loved me?'

'I've loved you since I've known you. No that's not - I think maybe even before.'

She leaned her forehead against his, and rested for a moment. 'I'm so sorry,' she said to him.

'That's right, sweetie,' Tara whispered to her, 'time to come with us, now.'

But Wesley was holding onto Fred, tightly, and shaking his head. 'No no no.'

'Be strong, sweetie,' Tara said, 'be strong for him - say goodbye.'

Fred sniffed and - in pain as she was - she tried to bring some order into the conversation - to give him instructions. 'I need you to talk to my parents,' she said to her lover, 'tell them it was quick, tell them I wasn't scared.' Her body began to convulse, as her insides collapsed in on themselves. 'Oh God!' she cried out.

'Just come to us now, Fred,' Doyle said to her, 'let go - all you have to do is give up the fight - you've got nothing to be afraid of.'

But Wesley wasn't giving up yet, he held her in a tight grip and stared down into her eyes. 'You have to fight. You don't have to talk, just concentrate on holding on.'

'Don't listen to him sweetie, you have to let go. I know it hurts, but if you let go it won't hurt anymore. No more pain, no more grief, no more fear,' Tara promised.

'I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared,' Fred chanted over and over - though everything hurt so much, and she couldn't bear to leave Wesley behind.

'That's good, love,' Doyle told her, 'and now one last thing - time to go.'

'Please,' she whimpered, 'Wesley.'

'You _have_ to leave him now, darlin'.'

She gazed into the watcher's eyes, tears streaming down her face. 'Why can't I stay?' And then she let go. She stopped fighting and, as soon as she did, her soul was pulled from her body and drawn into the open chest.

On the bed, Fred went still - and Wesley clung to her, sobbing. Unseen to him, light streamed from her - and flowed through the room - entering the chest that the three friends held. It lasted but moments, and once all the light had left Fred, the lid of the box snapped shut. Her soul was safe - just as Illyria began their rebirth.

The three of them - their mission accomplished - left the scene of suffering, allowing the watcher to grieve in private.

* * *

They arrived back in the throne room, and Cordelia took the chest from them, her eyes brimming with tears. 'That was hard,' she said, 'I wish there was something I could do for Wesley.'

'We saved Fred, for him,' Doyle told her, 'and maybe one day we can find a way to rejoin her soul with her body - and he can have her back… but now he just needs to be alone.'

The higher power nodded. Needing somewhere safe to store the precious soul, she willed a cabinet into existence, beside the library. 'We'll keep her here,' she said to the others, 'until we can work out what to do with her.' The others nodded solemnly. The mission had been a success - but it didn't feel like one.

* * *

Down on earth, the empty shell of Fred began to twitch. Her eyes opened wide. Her convulsions became so strong that Wesley was kicked away from her, and thrown to the floor. Her own body flew of the bed, and landed with a thump. It continued to fit and shake, violently, and then - just as suddenly as it had started - Fred's shell went still. Then, she got to her feet. Her eyes, and hair - and even her skin were tinged with a crystal blue. Illyria looked down at her hand - and flexed her fingers. 'This will do,' she said.


	11. Chapter 11: Shells

**A/N - slight AU timeline in this chapter**

* * *

Cordelia stared into the pool that was her window to the outside world. She was watching Angel - naturally - watching him grieve. For Fred. For Wes. He and Spike were on their Wolfram and Hart jet, returning to Los Angeles, after their failure at the deeper well. Spike was attempting to get drunk from the tiny bottles of Jack Daniels on board the plane. After trying - and failing - he put the bottle down. 'Thousands would have died if we'd saved her.'

'Yeah,' Angel's voice was heavy. He knew. But it was little consolation.

'She wouldn't have wanted that.'

Her champion sighed. 'Yeah.' Cordelia's eyes filled with tears. 'I tried calling Wesley,' Angel told the other vampire, 'there was no answer.'

'I guess she's gone then.' Spike went back to contemplating the unfairness that was a miniature bottle of alcohol. But Angel's mind still dwelt on Fred. 'What does that even mean?' he asked.

'Let it go, sweetie,' the higher power whispered - but of course, down on the lower planes, Angel could not hear her.

'Gone,' he said to Spike - repeating his own words back at him, 'what does it mean that she's gone?'

'Well…' Spike creased his forehead, as he considered the question. It was just the kind of platitude one said in this situation. A euphemism for dead. 'In the world of men, a person dies, they stay that way.'

'Unless you're a vampire,' Angel pointed out.

'Or the ghost of one that saved the world,' Spike said - his brow lifting, as he finally caught Angel's drift.

'Or Buffy,' Angel finished up. 'Death doesn't have to be the end, not in our world. Rules can be broken. All you have to do is … push hard enough.' They both looked hopeful.

Up in the heavenly planes, Cordelia closed her eyes, 'no, sweetie - you have to leave it alone,' she said. But the two vampires couldn't hear. And even if they could, they were not yet ready to listen.

'Cordelia, Princess,' she felt someone tugging at her arm - and knew it was Doyle. She opened her eyes again and looked at the half demon. 'Y' gotta come away from there,' he told her. 'We did what we could - and they'll be OK, in time. But there's no point torturin' yourself watchin' their grief. Y' can't help them with that. Y' gotta follow your own advice - leave it alone.'

'I'm a higher power,' she protested, though she allowed herself to be pulled away, 'I'm supposed to help them through this.'

'No,' he said to her simply. 'Grief - that's part of the normal world, and people have to deal with that alone. The higher powers are there for the big picture stuff - balancing the scales.'

'Well right now the scales are off balance!' she retorted. 'Fred is dead, an old one walks the earth, and the champions who serve us are grief stricken - and they're going to waste their time searching for solutions that don't exist. This is a big win for the other side. We have to help. _I_ have to help. It's what I'm here for.'

Although her words had started out snappish, by the end of her sentence, her voice had taken on a pleading note. Doyle stared at her, looking into her brown eyes - and seeing the way they were practically imploring him to agree with her; beseeching him to tell her that she was right, and that there _was_ something she could do to help. She might be the higher power - but she wanted his support. He took a deep breath. He worked for Cordelia, was her servant. And he loved her - more than he ever loved anybody in his life. He couldn't refuse to be there for when she needed him, couldn't bear to not give her what she wanted. Even if he feared it would be ultimately fruitless. Even if it might hurt her later - he had to help her now. He wasn't strong enough to resist.

He nodded, slowly. 'OK,' he said. 'I guess the women and me could start looking up … somethin' - that might help him. We'll hit the books.' He gestured towards the library that stood in her throne room. 'I can't promise anythin', though,' he warned, 'y' know that … there really might not be anythin' we can do for him.'

But Cordelia beamed at him - her brightest, ten thousand kilowatt smile. She was confident there was something they could do, if they just put their heads together. She wasn't going to listen to negativity. Doyle's heart thundered in his chest, as she smiled at him. He hoped he wouldn't end up disappointing her, but he was glad to have given her a reason to look at him like that. It reminded him of how things had been in the old days. Before he had died. Before she had fallen in love with Angel...

* * *

'So, what are we supposed to be looking for?' Anya asked, her tone had a note of irritation in it, she had been studying the books for hours and was none the wiser as to what exactly was expected of her.

'Something that will help Angel,' Cordelia reminded her, 'help him come to terms with his grief.' She turned a page of her own book. 'This would be so much easier if Wes was here to do this,' she muttered.

'Well if that's all that's needed he can just pop on down to the nearest magic shop and buy himself a potion to quell his grief,' the former vengeance demon pointed out, 'that doesn't require the time and concentration of a higher power and three heroes.'

'The big man needs somethin' a bit more concrete than a potion,' Doyle said, 'besides, broodin's pretty much the entirety of his personality. If he took somethin' to take the pain away … he might just disappear altogether.'

Anya laughed. Cordelia threw a cushion from her throne at the half demon and hit him in the head. 'Ow!' he protested. 'Don't be rude,' she chided. Tara wrinkled her nose up, and smiled. 'Maybe we should just give him something he can fight?' she suggested. 'That's how he deals with his emotions best - and it _would_ help take his mind of things.'

'Angel does love hittin' stuff,' Doyle nodded, he looked up at Cordelia, 'what about it? Just conjure up a big enemy for him to fight?'

'I don't just want to distract Angel,' Cordelia sighed, 'I want to give him something with purpose. Show him that his life, the world, still has meaning - even though this awful thing has happened.'

'So somethin' purposeful for him to hit…' Doyle shook his head, 'y'know, it's a shame the visions didn't get passed onto someone else. We always gave him purpose - a sense that he was fightin' for somethin' bigger.'

'Can't you just send him a vision?' Anya asked. 'You _are_ a higher power.'

'I don't know,' the higher power in question frowned. 'When I got the visions I got them by …' she glanced over at Doyle. The half demon had flushed red, and was staring down at his book. He still felt more than a little guilty for indirectly causing her premature death, no matter how much she assured him that his visions had been an honour to bear. And then there was the way he had passed them on. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't realised his feelings for Cordelia would have such an effect, and he certainly hadn't meant to reveal the depth of just how much she meant to him. They hadn't even had a first date, yet.

'How did you get the visions?' Anya asked, 'I thought you had to be part demon - and you were still human when you got them, right?'

Tara glanced between Cordy and Doyle, and noticed the blush on the back of Doyle's neck - and the way he was avoiding the conversation. 'It was an accident,' she guessed, her voice gentle. 'When Doyle died…'

'He kissed me,' Cordelia explained, 'and it turns out the little leprechaun is one heck of a kisser. He saddled me with the visions.'

'But that doesn't make sense,' Anya sounded outright annoyed at this, 'a lower being can't just decide to pass on the visions. The PTB would stop that.'

Doyle turned the page in his book, refusing to look up. The blood was pounding in his ears. Tara smiled softly, as she watched the redness creep up his neck and over his earlobes - and sensed his mortification. 'He loved her, sweetie,' she whispered to Anya, 'The Powers didn't take into account what he felt for her. They dropped the ball.'

Doyle cleared his throat. 'I didn't get my visions by kissin' anyone,' he said, a little too loudly. 'I was in my apartment, all alone when BAM! I just hit the deck. I thought I was havin' a stroke. I'd never heard of anythin' like it ever happenin' before - never mind thought it might happen to me.'

'So, what are you saying?' Cordelia asked. He took a deep breath, but before he could answer, Anya had cut in. 'He's saying that you don't need an extended make out session to pass on the visions,' she told the higher power. Doyle blushed an even darker red, and began to squirm. But Tara was nodding, 'right,' she said, 'the powers - that's you now, Cordelia, - can send visions to any demon they deem worthy.'

'It wasn't because I was worthy,' Doyle muttered.

'Then why?' Anya asked.

He squirmed some more, 'they were - they were … my atonement. For the bad thing I did.'

'Pfft!' Anya blew a raspberry. 'Angel's done a ton of bad stuff through the centuries, he qualifies.'

'I think she's right,' Tara said, 'you could give him the visions - let him know he's still working for you, that you're still with him.'

But Cordelia looked unsure. She had seen what happened to Angel when he had the visions - in the alternate timeline that had put her on her path to higher powerdom in the first place. He had done so much wrong in the past - so much bloodshed, so much evil. His conscience could not withstand the onslaught of the visions, he was not strong enough to bear them. She told her friends as much, and they all looked down in defeat.

Then Anya raised her head again. 'Well - do you have to send him every vision? Could you not just send him one important one - to help him get through his grief?'

Everyone looked back up again - hope written on their faces. That could maybe be a compromise. But what vision should Cordelia send? If she was only to send him one message from the higher realms - what was the most important thing she could tell him? What was the best way to give him the purpose and meaning that would let him go on fighting?

'Damsel in distress?' Anya suggested, 'a big strapping hero just can't resist a little woman in danger down a dark alleyway.'

'Too obvious,' Cordelia dismissed the idea, 'besides - he'd kill the demon in two minutes and we'd all be back at square one.'

'Some kind of quest?' was Tara's suggestion, 'the holy grail or the golden fleece…?'

'Y'know, I heard the foreskin of Christ got stolen,' Doyle offered, 'he could go look for that.'

Cordelia gave him a disgusted but amused look, and then shook her head. 'He isn't gonna want to leave L.A. Not with Illyria on the rampage and Wolfram and Hart and… everything.'

'Well - what about Wolfram and Hart?' Doyle suggested, everyone turned to look at him. 'They've always been the big bad - as long as Angel's been in town, he's been fightin' them. He went to work for them to shake things up, change it from the inside,' the half demon shook his head, 'it's not workin',' he concluded, 'they've lost you, Princess - now they've lost Fred. Sooner or later, they'll lose themselves. But … Y' said it y'self, Fred's dyin' is a big win for the forces of darkness. Maybe we could send him a vision that would y'know,' he whistled, 'even the score - take out someone for the other side, like.'

'A champion for the Senior Partners, you mean?' Cordelia asked him. He nodded. She began to smile. 'That's perfect,' she said, her eyes lighting up. Doyle began to smile too - pleased to have been able to help her. 'We just need to locate someone who works closely for the Senior Partners - someone it will hurt them if Angel takes them out…' She glanced across at her mystical pool.

'Will that show you the darker realms?' Tara asked, 'will it identify people working on the other side?'

Cordelia shrugged. 'There's only one way to find out.'

...

The group crossed over to the pool, and stared down into its swirling surface. 'Show me the champions of the forces of darkness,' Cordelia commanded, 'show me the instruments of the Senior Partners.' The mist began to stir and ripple - and then the images began to form on the water. The team stared down at the images of the information they sought.

* * *

'Are you ready to do this?' Doyle asked. Tara and Anya had left them alone, and now it was just the two of them in the throne room. Cordelia bit her lip - and then nodded. 'It's a big step,' the half demon warned, 'once you give them to Angel - they won't be yours anymore, Princess. You've had them a long time - they're a part of you.'

'You gave them to me.'

'I didn't mean to.'

'Well, I'm glad you did. And now it's time - to move on. You gave them to me because you love me. And I love Angel. He is the right person to bear this gift - for now, at least.'

Doyle nodded, and looked down at his shoes. He knew he shouldn't let it bother him - that he had no right to expect or ask for her love after all this time. But it still hurt that she loved Angel, now.

Cordelia saw him look down, and bit her lip again. She reached out and took his hand. He looked up at her - and their eyes met. 'Hold onto me?' she asked him, 'whilst I do this. Stay with me?' He nodded - and she squeezed his hand tighter - and then channelled all her thoughts down to Angel.

* * *

Lying in his bed, in his penthouse suite, Angel was dreaming. BAM! He was suddenly woken by painful images streaming into his mind. He sat up in bed gasping - as the fire and death in his vision swarmed behind his eyes. As the pain died away, he was left with just one, vital piece of information: The Circle of the Black Thorn.


End file.
